SODA

Chapter 4: Lookin Ass

Removing the last "Queen" poster on my wall, rolling it up and throwing it in a box with the other decorations that were hanging on my wall was the saddest part of it all. This room looks so... empty. All the things that made this room my room are all gone. But that doesn't take away from the fact that this room was me. I like to think that maybe it's a symbolic message or something, that maybe one piece of me is leaving, but only to make room for a whole new part. I'm trying to soak up all the time I can in here before my longtime friend Fatima pulls up. I know her and my mother don't really get along and if they exchange more than five words with each other it's going to be World War III.

I fall face first into my bed as if I'm giving it a giant hug. If only I could bring you with me matty, but I can't, I didn't even get to spend my last night in my bed I've been packing all night, and living off of no sleep is no joke. Plus I become so grumpy, that no one can handle me, but I can just sleep on the plane. I walk over to my pocket book and pick up my boarding pass. New York, man, this is crazy. Just 14 hours ago I came home from the best night of my life to my mom kicking me out to holding a boarding pass to New York.

"It's funny how my mother was more than willing to pay for my ticket" I say with a scoff.

She's just waiting for me to get out of here. But honestly whose parents do that? Kick your child out with no warning, no nothing and expect them to be out by morning? Well... actually I was the one who said I'd be out by morning but that doesn't matter. It was out of nowhere and it's like she wants me to go out into the real world unprepared, so I'm vulnerable, and weak. Then get mauled by the hardships of life and come back to her all frail and broken and appreciative of the things she's done for me, and see that she was doing all that to protect me. But that's not going to happen at all, mothers don't always know best, especially a mother who doesn't even know their daughter.

My longtime friend Fatima is flying in from New York to come get me. We agreed that I could stay with her until I get on my feet. She's the only person who has completely understood, during this whole thing. I continue to peer outside the window to check if she has arrived, and looking out I can already taste the freedom. I play a little scenario in my head. I can see us taking on The Big Apple. Shopping in all the designer stores, and going to all of the exclusive clubs. But let me not get too far ahead of myself. Since I'm going to be on my own I can't be much of a dreamer anymore, I'm going to need to face reality; and the reality is that I have no money, no house and no job.

A sound in the distance breaks me from my thought bubble and I toss some shirts on the floor to get to my phone and see that I got a text message:

Getting gas will c u in 15

Shoot!

I didn't think she'd be that early, I take the rest of the clothes off the floor and shove it into random boxes. I reassure myself that I'll just sort them out later.

I bend down and pick up the first box. It was a lot heavier than I thought for a box of wall decorations and CDs. I drunkenly walk down the steps and wobble my way to the garage door. I plant one box down on the hardwood floor place my hands of my knees and wheeze a little. How am I already out of breath?! Either I'm really out of shape or those boxes have like 30 bricks in them. Walking over to the stairs and holding on to the railing, I pant looking desperately at the stairs I have to climb up and back down 5 more times. I mumble to myself, why do I have so much stuff?!! God!! I take a deep breath then dart up the stairs, and back down. This reminded me of doing suicides in my 9th grade Physical Education class. I hated that class, and now I remember why.

After setting the last box down near the garage, I finally take a seat on the couch, partially sweating and out of breath I hear my phone ringing upstairs.